It's A Rugby Thing

I get a text from my brother at 0630.  He's heading to Houston, but not before he gets the chance to play some rugby in the annual UNC-W alumni match.  After a few phone calls and contemplation (along with some tears from Liam since Mommy had the nerve to be on the phone when she should have been paying undivided attention to Sir Cuteness), Grandpa Marty, Grandma Bobbey, Liam and I piled into the Jeep and made our way down for a daytrip in Dubtown.

The weather was perfect, the field was in the best condition I've seen, and the folks attending were some of the best people on God's green Earth.  Liam got the chance to see lots of "uncles" -- Fungus, Lopez, Rick, Rooster, and Bulldog -- and he got to enjoy some amazing rugby.  I have no clue what the final score was (does anyone know?  I'm sure the alums won because THEY'RE THE BEST), but I do know that Liam was mesmerized and we loved being able to see Air Force, aka Uncle Ken, in action again.

As you can see in the pictures below, Ken's hair (both head and facial) is reaching some unchartered lengths, and he is rocking the Ken Style like no one else can:  Camouflage bucket hat with a chin cord; the understated Crayola green alumni T-shirt; dusty, torn navyish rugby shorts; shiny spandex black undershorts; the subtle gold/navy striped rugby knee socks (one pulled up, the other casually drifting around calf-height); and Alabama slide-on sandals.  When he sauntered into the Cracker Barrel after the match to join us for some grub, he received an interesting welcome.  The waiters and hostesses at the welcome stand all abruptly stopped talking as he approached, and then after he gave them the typical Ken smile and nod, he heard one say under his breath, "Ohhhhkay."  What did Ken want to say to them?  "It's a rugby thing."

Jesse Force, Air Force, and Sister Force

And seriously, folks, this IS Wilmington.  I can't hear "Wilmington" without thinking "rugby" in my next cognitive moment.  Why all the shock?  Okay, so Ken is a bit Australian-meets-Nordic in his presence, and rugby shorts are incredibly tiny (if only you could see THOSE in the pictures), but come on!

It's Cracker Barrel!  Don't most of their menu items have apostrophes in the names?  I thought you were encouraged to come as you are, play checkers, and enjoy the country fried steak and corn muffins.  Sheesh.